


Blink

by anthrop



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-23
Updated: 2010-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-14 20:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthrop/pseuds/anthrop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And last night comes flooding back in a terrible blur of color when he sees the wreckage of his apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blink

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by art by FinisMundi39 on deviantART. The morning after Conrad is bitten.

Blink on.

Panic sets in, tight and white-hot in his gut, when he doesn't recognize where he is. And then it's pain-- dull, flaky, aching-- all over, and stuck in the middle of these two chemical responses he blinks and oh. Oh.

He recognizes those shoes, those jeans, that laundry bin.

Why is he in his closet?

When he stands the pain flares and eats up the last strings of his panic, and the door doesn't open at first when he turns the handle. He looks down, and there's a shirt-- a _nice_ shirt-- wedged in the crack between the door and the floorboards, and that doesn't make any sense. He pulls it out, grunting when his shoulder complains, and opens the door.

And last night comes flooding back in a terrible blur of color when he sees the wreckage of his apartment.

The tattered, bloodied remains of the red polo he'd worn, along with his only pair of black gym shoes, lay tumbled at the foot of his bed. The duvet is trailing on the floor, the pillows are strewn everywhere, the sheets are rumpled and spotted with crumbly blood stains. His bedroom is dark, all the lamps broken and the blinds pulled tightly shut even though it's night again.

A little moan escapes him, the kind of moan so often attributed to a great desire to erase a hilarious embarrassment, a terrible mistake, an unfortunate accident. He remembers the bat-- the woman?-- scratching and clawing him, the fast-talking redheaded kid and his partner-- zombie?-- stiff and silent in that loud orange shirt, flashes of pink light and then teeth, long and white and hungry-looking in a cold-lipped mouth, glinting in yellow halogen lights on his roof before _biting down_ --

He stumbles out of the bedroom, clipping an elbow on the door frame as he claps a hand-- scratched and filthy-- to the ache at his neck, and the ache _ignites_ at his rough touch, and his mouth gasps open as he trips on his own feet into the bathroom.

"Oh god."

It's the flicker he sees first. Just like a cheap special effect in one of those old movies, the kind made before he was even born. It makes him clutch at his sink like a lifeline, an anchor to twenty-four hours ago, because seeing his face-- seeing _all of him--_ fuzz in and out of focus, then completely flicker out so he's standing in front of a blank mirror, staring at the wall _behind him,_ stops him cold, shuts him down before he's even had a chance to catch up. But when he speaks his reflection fuzzes on again, thick enough to blur his edges, but clear enough to see the damage done so recently.

Black eye, almost swollen completely shut. Claw marks everywhere, stinging brightly. Blood splatters on his face. A line of blisters on his forearm that might explain why he'd woken up-- blinked on?-- in his closet. Holes in his neck, holes that feel _deep._ White, white skin. His mouth still hanging open in a gasp, and oh no, oh no, his _teeth_.

Carefully, afraid of too many half-formed ideas to stop himself, he leans close to the mirror and, with his left hand, carefully, carefully touches his mouth.

He still pricks his finger on his teeth-- his _fang_ -- anyway.

He hisses and jerks his hand away, but when he looks at his finger there's just a white, dry hole. No blood, and that doesn't make any sense.

His stomach growls, and his reflection flickers off again.

And it hits him.

And he hits the floor, because his legs stop working.

And his mouth is moving, and sounds are coming out.

"--oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god--"

Over and over again.

And it's too much.

So he stops.

Blink off.


End file.
